Pine and Cedar
by Jim Carnival
Summary: Duckula XV no longer feared death. No stake could compare to the heartbreak of knowing he could never truly change. ჯ One-shot.


**Note:** This is another minific about Duckula's ancestor, the fifteenth count. The backstory my best friend and I gave him is that he's the typical evil vampire, but slowly develops a "forbidden love" relationship with Goosewing's ancestor Branta. Duckula does his best to push past his dark side and instincts to be a normal part of Branta's family, but ultimately is betrayed by the hero doing the wrong thing.

Content warning for implied suicide.

* * *

An unappreciated merit of being a vampire was the ability to simply not die. Whether spite played any part as motivator didn't matter. Loathed by everyone, the vampires lived on with no fear of illness or old age. The cautious ones had no fear of wandering into a stray slat of sunlight, and stayed hidden away so that even the more dedicated hunters couldn't find them. They respected nothing except sun and stakes—fate for them was never death until a determined hunter brought them to it.

Vampiric immortality was common knowledge. Everyday lore. That was how Duckula knew that he was the only one in his entire dynasty to have fallen by something other than a scorching ray of light or a stake through his ribs. Though a nail whittled from cedar wood lay on the cobblestone floor, it had played no part in Duckula's despair.

He had no discernment or sensitivity to understand the feeling that crushed him. It somehow felt like how he would imagine that dreaded stake would, driving directly into his heart. He didn't know why the pain had struck the instant Branta had turned and slammed the door shut behind him.

Duckula's gaze drifted, dragging until it came to rest on the stake. Gray spots clamored in the corners of his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. The haze lingered. He kept squinting at the stake.

Branta had held it tightly the entire time he had Duckula pinned against the floor with his forearm. He had shouted and ranted until his voice wore into a rasp, and with every accusation had pushed the blunt end of the stake deeper into Duckula's chest.

Branta could have killed him there, while rage made his eyes flash and feathers bristle. But he hadn't. He had forced Duckula to lay on the floor under his weight and listen to every suspicion he revealed and every doubt against him he spewed. Hearing how Branta regretted ever caring for him did far more damage than any wooden nail could have.

 _Why was I ever fool enough to believe you were different?_

 _How could I have been so stupid to think you were the turning point?_

Duckula blinked quickly. Why wouldn't his sight clear? Frustrated, he shook his head. It felt hollow, nothing in his thoughts except for Branta's words.

 _Monster. Villain. Wretch. Wicked. Heartless._ Duckula knew the last one, at least, was a lie. He had a heart, because nothing else within him could ache so terribly and suffocate him.

He had tried so long to stifle every aspect of who he was, only for the sake of Branta's comfort. Duckula was a vampire, meant to skulk in the darkness and bear a lust for blood that was never satisfied. He had claws for tearing and pinpoint fangs for piercing. It wasn't meant for children to lead him along by the hand or for someone to kiss him past his pointed teeth.

It had never been easy for him to crush his urges to bite and hiss and swear and maul—it was instinct. Branta had convinced him to ignore those instincts.

It took indescribable effort, but he had changed enough to be trusted. He could be left alone with children and found hours later with them, smiling at their laughter and entertaining them with "magic." He could be led through a village swarming with people, men and maidens alike, and not so much as a brush a claw against someone's trailing sleeve.

Nothing other than Branta's soft expression of love and pride could have convinced Duckula to sacrifice his nature in such a way. The fourteen Duckulas before him would have looked down upon him in disgust had they known he would become so weak—practically the pet of a peasant. Duckula knew all along that he was disgraceful and pathetic. Giving up his nature and denouncing his lineage, all for the affection of a short-lived, worthless mortal.

He was the biggest fool in his entire dynasty. A creature of graceful cunning and wickedness who could send jabs of fear into the heart of the strongest man, reduced by his own effort to a soft-pawed children's pet.

He was shameful.

Head pounding, Duckula groped with numb, frozen fingers over the floor until he brushed against the stake. It rolled bumpily over the cobblestone. Duckula clenched his teeth and pressed his palm flat against the stake, then worked his stiff fingers until they closed around it.

With all the force he could muster, Duckula pushed himself up to a sitting position. His arms trembled, weak as pudding. Jabs of pain erupted in his chest, emanating through him like an earthquake aftershock.

Everything hurt. Branta's words echoed. Duckula's lungs tightened until he could barely breathe. Branta's words repeated on an endless loop. Duckula clenched his fist until his claws bit punctures into his palm. He squeezed his eyes shut while " _heartless_ " resonated through his mind like a dying shout in an empty cave.

He bent over and squeezed the stake. His hand shook as he angled the needle-sharp tip against his chest. He slid his other hand over the rough, crumbling bark to cup the rounded end.

Tilting his head back until the dry ends of his hair feathered over his nape, he breathed in. He noticed everything. Some things that he hadn't before. The ice in the air; crisp, sharp. Swallowing little icicles. Mildew, musty and moist. Pine from the weathered trees outside the window, clear and fresh. Dust. Cold mud. Ash in the fireplace. Acid rain. Electricity in the air, prickly, tangy, miniscule sparks alive in his feathers and standing them on end and stinging as he let the breath out in a huff that hinged on a tremor.

He steadied the stake, and doubled over.


End file.
